


Saunter Down to Ye Olde Hell

by skimmingthesurface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bodyswap, Episode: s01e06 The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Soft bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface
Summary: On the morning of what could potentially be the very last day of the rest of their live, Aziraphale and Crowley have swapped bodies, but now what? What's the plan? And how do they keep each other safe through it all? A shameless bodyswap fic. One angel and one demon share one brain cell, but they're trying.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 121





	Saunter Down to Ye Olde Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fun little fic I wanted to write after the umpteenth time watching Good Omens. I wanted to play around with them trying to act as each other and it turned into this little exploration of my headcanon for how they might've gone about their day before Heaven and Hell captured them.

“I’m  _ not _ leaving you alone. My people could arrive at any minute!”

The hissing didn’t work so well when it was Aziraphale’s mouth forming his words. Crowley pressed the unfamiliar tongue to the roof of his mouth, against the back of his teeth, as he glared with unfamiliar eyes at his own face. Except it didn’t quite look like his face, not when the expressions flitting across it had no place on the face of a demon.

“Well, isn’t that the point?” Aziraphale asked, straightening Crowley’s shoulders reflexively, but caught himself and sagged back into a more slouchy, languid stance. “We can’t very well fool them if they don’t come after us, now can we? That’s the whole point of this.”

He attempted to gesture between the two of them with two separate intentions. One was clearly to refer to the circumstance they both happened to find themselves in at the moment. The other was to flick his wrist as if it didn’t have bones in it.

Crowley’s glare faded and he stopped rolling his tongue in an attempt to keep from smiling. “Yes, that’s the point,” he sighed. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna make it easy for them.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to frown, and it made Crowley’s nose wrinkle a bit in a way that wasn’t very like Crowley at all. “Could you try to sound a little bit more like me?”

“Can you?”

Aziraphale huffed, but rolled his neck once and gave a little wiggle as he cleared his throat. “How’ssss thissss?” He flicked his tongue and grinned at him, an expression much more suited to a demon’s face, then tried again. “What’s the point of all this, if we’re not going to let them  _ bloody _ drag me down to  _ sssssodding _ Hell?”

Crowley pursed his lips as Aziraphale swung a hip out and stumbled a bit when he tried to walk - tried to circle him, he realized with a pang of something that straddled the line of embarrassment and pleasure. “No need for that kind of language,” he replied slowly, lightening his tone in the same way one would inject air into a puff pastry. “And mind the hissing. Don’t overdo it.”

“You do it when you’re nervoussss,” Aziraphale hissed again, trying to saunter in the other direction. He was better when he led with the left hip.

“Now wait just a second, that’s a lie. I don’t get nervous. That’s you.” Crowley fell out of character immediately. “Nervous.  _ Me_.” He made a disgruntled sort of noise to further convey his displeasure.

“Is this going to be a problem? You’re not going to fool anyone if you keep dropping out of character like that.” Aziraphale waved at him with a loose arm, like he was double jointed at the elbow - which Crowley was not - but he still sounded… vaguely like him.

He arched a careful eyebrow. “You’re better at this than I expected. Usually you’re a terrible actor.”

That broke Aziraphale’s character, a sharp gasp escaping lips that weren’t his as he reared back, hand over his heart. “What are you saying? I’m a  _ perfectly _ respectable actor!”

“Yeah, well, it’s not your calling, an- um… Crowley.” He frowned as he almost slipped up, glancing at his TV and then his stereo system to make sure both were off. He snapped once, removing their power cords, just in case. “Stick to bookshops.” It was automatic. He didn’t think before he said it, but he immediately kicked himself for it. Shit shit shitshitshit- “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s… it’s quite alright. I keep forgetting, too.” Aziraphale gave him one of his wavery smiles. If it wasn’t for the sunglasses hiding his eyes, they’d surely have a glassy sheen to them. “I mean, ah… s’fine. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

It would be a great many years - decades possibly, maybe  _ centuries _ \- before Crowley would forget the smell of the bookshop burning around him or the heat of the flames licking at his skin while he reached out to try and feel Aziraphale’s essence somewhere in the wreckage. When he blinked sometimes he could still see it, like he was right back in the middle of it. Choking down ash and screaming himself hoarse as the gaping lack of Aziraphale cracked open wider and wider…

It was habit to think of the angel and his bookshop, that was all. “Well…” Crowley cleared his throat, struggling to find the right timbre and inflection for his role. “Speaking of, we best get a move on. No telling how much time we have.”

Aziraphale tensed, his fingers twitching as he stopped himself from wringing his hands several times. “Crowley, I  _ can’t_-”

Crowley dropped the act once again and let his head loll back as he groaned, the vibration making Aziraphale’s voice sound so much deeper than it normally did. “Why not?” He jerked suddenly and pointed right at his own face. “And don’t say appearances. They already know we’re working together. Have worked together. Whatever you want to call it. We’re already in over our heads, popping about London together’s hardly going to be what tips the scales.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Aziraphale argued, successfully wringing his hands now as he paced Crowley’s flat. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. They might suspect we’re up to something!”

“It’s a little late for that now.” Crowley watched him swivel about, nearly tripping over his own feet several times. “Oi. Slow down.”

“Would you please just go and check?” Aziraphale asked desperately. “Even if the bookshop’s… they won’t know what happened to it. They won’t care.” His shoulders sagged and his chin quivered in way Crowley’s very much never did. “But that’s still where they know to contact me. Heaven will send my summons there, I’m sure of it. So long as the building is still standing. If you’re going to go in my place, then you need to know when they want you up there for… for whatever it is they have in store for me.”

Crowley ground his teeth together and stalked forward until their chests were practically touching. “I told you, I’m not leaving you here alone,” he growled, annoyed that he could only see his reflection in the sunglasses and the molten fear bubbling behind his eyes.

A swell of insecurity crashed into him and he snatched the sunglasses right off his own nose. There was a sharp intake of breath, enough to urge their breasts to come in contact for a beat, and wide, yellow eyes stared back at him. There was no carefully curved iris, Aziraphale didn’t know how to divide his concentration up to think his eyes into a more human shape, so the whole of them were yellow and the pupils sharp, thin slivers. They didn’t mirror his fear, surprisingly enough. No, they were wide with wonder and a touch of curiosity.

Crowley folded the glasses and yanked Aziraphale closer so he could tuck them into his pocket. “You don’t need these when it’s just you and me,” he grumbled.

“Oh,” Aziraphale released the breath he’d sucked in, then didn’t take another. “I merely assumed…” he cut himself off, thinking better of whatever he’d been about to say and dropped his gaze to their shoes.

“What?”

“It’s nothing, my dear-”

“What did you assume?”

“I told you, it’s- well, just that-  _ oh_.” Aziraphale fumbled with his hands - with Crowley’s hands - and eventually reached out to fiddle with his own waistcoat, even though it wasn’t on his body. 

Crowley’s stomach muscles jumped, trembling as long, thin fingers tugged on the velvet encasing his soft middle, knuckles brushing with care. He gawked at his own face as it furrowed and fussed like Aziraphale’s, standing stock still while Aziraphale straightened his coat and his bowtie, too. His Adam’s apple bobbed as Crowley swallowed, the tips of his thumbs just barely grazing his throat.

“I assumed that since you wear them even when it’s just the two of us, that you simply didn’t…” Aziraphale trailed off, his gaze honing in on where their skin touched.

Crowley suddenly regretted taking the sunglasses. He didn’t know what to do with that look. He didn’t even know what Aziraphale would find in the poor imitation of his stare, now that he couldn’t see their reflection. What did he look like, a demon with angel eyes gazing upon an angel wearing a demon’s skin?

“Didn’t what?” he rasped, and he shivered at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice echoing in his head.

“Didn’t like the look of your eyes,” Aziraphale admitted. “It makes sense around humans, of course, but when it’s just you and me… well, I assumed you were always so eager to hide them because you didn’t like them.”

Crowley’s eyebrows lifted, his lips parted as he watched the snake slits lift to meet his gaze. “That’s…” His eyes felt remarkably dry and itchy and he realized he hadn’t blinked in several minutes. He remedied that with four very pointed blinks. “That’s ridiculous, no. That’s not why I wear them ‘round you. Just habit.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, hands finally lowering to clasp one another, then unfolded quickly and tucked his fingertips into the pockets of his jeans. “Your pockets aren’t very big.”

“No, s’unfortunate.”

“Rather,” he agreed. “But you’ve worn them this way for the past two decades, at least. Why not switch to something with a little more room?”

“Like the cut of them.”

Aziraphale hummed and glanced down at the legs that currently belonged to him. “Well, they do look rather nice on you.”

“Think so?”

“Oh yes.”

Aziraphale’s corporation felt hot and itchy and Crowley didn’t know what to do with that. “Why won’t you come with me to check for the summons?” he asked, trying to get them back on track and trying not to sound too desperate.

This time, without the sunglasses to hide behind, Crowley could see the despair in his eyes. “I can’t- I’m… I’m not ready. To see it.” When that wasn’t enough of an explanation, Aziraphale sighed heavily. “I’m not ready to see it all burned to nothing. I don’t know if I could- if I could do that and still play a convincing enough you to keep you safe.”

Crowley stilled as a chill crept through his borrowed corporation and he was left with an intangible aching like the whisper of wind that found every crack and crevice in a crumbling foundation. “Aziraphale…”

“Please, Crowley. I can’t lose you, too.” The eyes of a snake had no business beseeching Crowley like that, but they did and it  _ hurt_.

Aziraphale tried to continue when Crowley started shaking his head, but was cut off. “No, we’re not doing this.” He made a grab for his own hand, only for Aziraphale to jerk it just out of reach. “Give it here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course we’re doing this.” A very un-demonlike sound sputtered from his lips as Aziraphale played keep away with both hands while Crowley pursued him. “We don’t have any other options!”

“‘Course we do!”

Aziraphale fixed him with a chastising look. “Alpha Centauri? Really?”

“What’s wrong with Alpha Centauri?”

“Nothing, it’s- stop that!” Aziraphale lightly smacked the top of Crowley’s hand when it darted forward like a viper striking. “_Crowley_. It’s a perfectly beautiful nebula, but it’s not a viable escape plan.”

“Why not?”

Aziraphale didn’t have an answer for that. “Agnes’s prophecy does not state, ‘get in thine infernal chariot and flight on to the hefens to escape the punishment to befall upon thee.’ Her prophecies have been nothing but nice and accurate since the time of her death until now. I have no reason to doubt her words. And I should know. I read the book. Cover to cover.”

Crowley threw his arms up in exasperation, not bothering to mention that, like the bookshop, they no longer had an ‘infernal chariot’ either. “What if the prophecy’s not about us?” That gave Aziraphale pause, so he seized his chance, plucking the little scrap of paper from his pocket. “‘When all is fated and all is done, ye must choose your faces wisely, for soon enough ye will be playing with fire.’ How the Heaven are we supposed to know that means you and me? There’s nothing here that says, ‘oi, angel, step into thine demon’s skin and saunter down to ye olde Hell.’”

Aziraphale fixed him with a look that didn’t belong in the eyes of a snake. “That’s a little too on the nose for Agnes.”

Crowley barely refrained from setting the scrap on fire as he crumpled it up and flicked it away, ignoring Aziraphale’s horrified little gasp as he made to snatch it before it hit the ground. “You don’t know what it’s like down there, angel. Think complete opposite of Heaven and then multiply whatever you think is the absolute most torment a soul could endure by six hundred and sixty-six. If there’s another way out, if I don’t have to send you down there…” he trailed off, throat finally closing around his words as he dared to imagine the angel surrounded by a horde of demons.

Aziraphale softened, an embarrassing look overall for Crowley’s face. “And if I could keep you from facing Heaven again, I would. Believe me, Crowley, I know what it means that you’re willing to go up there for me. I can’t imagine how painful the memories-”

“Memories can’t carve up flesh or tear into divine essence. I can live with memories. If going up there means you don’t have to, then of course I’m going to do it. No question. But you don’t have to do the same for me, angel. I’d never ask you to go down there for me.”

“Fortunately for us, you don’t have to. I’d do it regardless.” Aziraphale made to adjust his bowtie, but brushed his own exposed throat instead. A blush rose to his cheeks that he couldn’t temper, though he held Crowley’s gaze nonetheless. “If Hell intends to destroy you with holy water, then they’ll have to go through me.”

“But Aziraphale-”

Aziraphale lifted a finger. “You have always been the one to take the greater risks of the two of us. Though I had tried to ignore it in the past for the sake of our own self-preservation, I cannot deny that you have proven time and time again your dedication to our side. To… to me. My dear, you must know that I know-”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crowley mumbled, his corporation hot and stiff as he looked away from his own face. 

A soft smile tugged at Azirphale’s lips. “Crowley, let me show you what I should have centuries ago. Let me be your equal in this.” His hands fluttered at his sides before he lifted them, taking the chance to hold Crowley’s hands and gave them a squeeze. “I’m on our side.”

Oh yes, Aziraphale’s body was clearly too padded, now it was overheating and frying his essence like an overcooked egg. “Angel, I think your corporation’s broken.”

“Crowley.” Crowley’s voice had no business sounding so fond. “I find taking a few calming breaths helps. Just the act of it can be reassuring, even if it actually does nothing for us.”

Crowley frowned at him, but made the effort to breathe for a few seconds anyway. “You can’t go around saying things like that, angel.”

“Why not? You do.”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“I don’t see why it has to be anymore. For us.” Aziraphale ducked his head, thumbing over Crowley’s wrist gently. “If we can pull this off, the entire world is at our fingertips. We could… we could go off. Together.”

Crowley stared at him, eyes burning again, but this time did nothing to remedy it, too busy drinking in the creases of Aziraphale folded into his own skin. “You really mean that?” he breathed.

Aziraphale nodded, his grip tightening the smallest degree. “If it’s not too late.”

“Never.” Crowley wrestled for control over this body and finally squeezed back.

“Oh… oh, really?”

“Really. Never ever.” Crowley had to fight the smile threatening him as Aziraphale practically glowed with pleasure, his angelic essence creating a halo around the demonic corporation it was housed in. “Careful, angel. You’re looking a little too holier than thou.”

Though it took considerable effort, Aziraphale managed to contain himself. “Right. Well, then… You’ll go to the bookshop?”

Crowley sighed and sagged as he rolled his head along with his eyes. “If I must. Don’t know why I tried arguing with you on it anyway. You’re a stubborn bastard when you want to be.”

“Thank you, my dear. It truly will bring me some peace of mind if we know when Heaven’s scheduled my summons for.”

“Yes, alright. Just… promise me you’ll stay here. Right here.” Crowley pointed at the ground as he stared hard at Aziraphale. “No getting peckish and running off for petit fours or eclairs or anything. Keep the doors locked and don’t turn on any electronics.”

“What about the kettle?”

“My… my kettle’s not electric.”

“Yes, but the stove?”

Crowley sputtered. “No, they can’t… they can’t talk to us through the stove, angel.”

“Oh good.”

Shaking his head, Crowley crossed the room, peering out the windows of his flat to the street below. Nothing seemed out of place. He stopped by his desk to rip the phone cord from the wall, then thought better of it and plugged it back in. He made a grabbing motion at Aziraphale as he gravitated back to his side.

“Phone. Give it here.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale patted himself down, looking rather lost as he tried to determine just where the demon kept his mobile on himself. “Ah. Here it is.” He tilted his head as he watched Crowley check it before pocketing it himself. “Doesn’t look quite right. Me holding onto your phone.”

“I won’t actually use it while I’m out as you. Just a precaution in case you need to get a hold of me. I’ll write the number down. Leave it here on the desk.”

“I could just call the bookshop- oh. Right. Suppose the telephone won’t work there anymore. Even with a miracle.”

No, there very likely wasn’t a phone left for them to miracle. Crowley winced, the smell of ash and smoke choking him even as he shook the memory away. He adjusted Aziraphale’s waistcoat and bowtie to fall back into his role and distract from the pooling dread low in his belly as he envisioned what remained of the bookshop. After the fire, after the explosion. After the thought that he’d never see Aziraphale again stabbed him through like a poker forged in holy fire.

The last thing he wanted to do was look upon the rubble of what was once the pride and joy - the closest thing to a home either of them had - of the angel in front of him, but he wanted even less to expose Aziraphale to the wreckage. It would do more than devastate him. Crowley couldn’t argue with him there.

Clasping his hands behind his back, shoulders straight, Crowley nodded curtly. “If you need me, you know how to reach me. Don’t answer the phone for anyone.”

“What if you call?”

“Then let it go to voicemail. Wait to see if it’s me calling, then pick up.”

“Let it go to what?”

Crowley shook his head. “Just- if you hear me talking- or, well, yourself- bah, you know what I mean. You hear me on the tape, you pick up. I’ll use a codeword. ‘Picnic.’ How’s that?”

“Pick up the phone if you use the word picnic,” Aziraphale repeated with a bounce on his heels. “Understood. And if we haven’t heard from our respective offices by a certain time, we should plan to meet somewhere.”

“St. James’s at two?”

“What time is it now? Oh, it’s only eight. That’s quite a while to wait…”

“Eleven then.”

“Much better. I’ll see you there. I hope.”

Crowley nodded, stare lingering on Aziraphale until he had to blink and look away. He rubbed at his eyes, missing the way the angel’s lips parted several times as if to say something more, but unsure of what exactly to say. Crowley thrust his hand out, still not looking at him, and let it hover in the space between them. Aziraphale glanced between his own well-manicured hand and Crowley’s pinched expression, slowly reaching back, clasping his hand to bridge the distance.

“Until we meet again,” Crowley said, his voice crisp like Aziraphale’s, if a little low and coarse, like gravel.

“Yeah, see you.” Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “Stay safe. Might not be around to come swanning in and save you from a bit of trouble, angel.”

Blue eyes widened and Crowley finally met his gaze, lips parted on a silent gasp of his own. “Right, well then… I shall do my best to… try,” he fumbled, frowning as Aziraphale felt a slow smile curve his lips. “St. James’s. Eleven o’clock. Don’t be late, Crowley.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, angel,” Aziraphale assured him.

They let go, a whisper of hope that this wouldn’t be the last they saw of each other all that lingered when the front door closed.

\----

The bookshop and the Bentley had been restored. Every human life that had been lost brought back from the gates - either pearly or hellish - and life continued on as if Earth hadn’t been on the very brink of destruction less than twenty-four hours earlier. The memory of what had occurred on that Saturday in August became as muddled and faded as a dream for all those who had borne witness to any sort of apocalyptic oddity, which was probably for the best in the end.

The angel and demon met at the Duke of York column, careful to keep their expressions relatively neutral. Bland, even. Aziraphale strolled up to with a not-so-subtle swing to his hips, but Crowley merely offered up the gentle arch of his brow in response.

“You’re late,” Crowley informed him unnecessarily, having been on the receiving end of unnecessary, angelic observations countless times in six thousand years.

“_Humans_,” Aziraphale sneered, in a way he only let slip out when someone dared to disrespect one of his books or - God forbid - tried to purchase one. “Had to take a blasted taxi. Didn’t even try to go over the speed limit and wasn’t about to waste a temptation on that. You know. Alert my people just for a bit of traffic.”

An honestly despairing look creased the lines of the angelic corporation’s face. “Oh. So the Bentley didn’t…?”

“No, no, no. It’s there, it’s fine. Perfectly fine, I just-” Aziraphale floundered for a moment, every comforting platitude dancing on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t say any of them. He couldn’t very well say he didn’t dare drive the Bentley when it wasn’t  _ his _ car either. Not in public. Not with the walls and trees and ducks in close proximity. “Wanted to let her… have a rest. Long day, yesterday. Put her through a lot, you know. Thought a taxi would be… would be fine. Yeah.”

Crowley blinked, his shoulders relaxing even as he kept his hands clasped tightly behind him. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Aziraphale assured him, then tacked on. “Would I lie to you?”

That wrenched a reluctant smile from the demon, his eyes darting away without the protection of his sunglasses. “You’re a demon,” he recited primly. “It’s what you do.”

Aziraphale smiled back, completely unable to help himself, but did his very best to make it seem more smirk-like. “We just gonna stand here then, or do you fancy a stroll around the park?”

“A stroll sounds lovely.”

“Yeah, thought you’d say that. C’mon then, angel. Let’s go.” Aziraphale started for the stairs, but hesitated at the edge. How did Crowley walk when he went up and down stairs? He could visualize the way he moved beside him, the same way he had for thousands of years, but the mechanics of it eluded him.

He sent a pleading look to the demon for some kind of subtle instruction, but it was lost on him for two reasons. The first being, obviously, the sunglasses. The second was that Crowley wasn’t even looking at him. Blue eyes icy and gray, like storm clouds crackling with electricity, slowly scanned their surroundings. Without breaking his concentration, Crowley stepped up beside him and placed a hand at the small of his back to guide him down the steps.

“Come along, my dear,” he murmured, a little too deeply.

Aziraphale was struck silent by him for a moment, caught up in his intensity as he let himself be pushed along, forgetting to walk like a serpent with legs until they were halfway down. He stumbled ahead of him and shrugged him off.

“Pushy,” he complained in his best impression of Crowley complaining without actually being upset about anything. “S’not like we’re in a hurry, angel.”

Crowley hurried after him while trying not to make it obvious that was what he was doing. He naturally stopped at Aziraphale’s left, then fell a few paces back to cross to his right. The angel watched him closely, paying more attention to him than the people they passed. The sunglasses helped to hide his obvious scrutiny, and he could understand a little bit why Crowley liked them so, apart from hiding his demonic features. A pleasant, warm feeling expanded in his chest as he thought of all the times Crowley maybe used them to - dare he even think it -  _ admire him _ in secret.

“There was nothing.”

Aziraphale blinked, heart actually jumping with his lack of concentration. “Sorry?” he said on instinct, then realized his mistake - Crowley wouldn’t just apologize like that - and backtracked. “What?”

“At the bookshop.”

Aziraphale froze, this time his ‘what’ was much softer and more wounded. Crowley stopped almost immediately to keep pace with him, finally looking at him instead of everywhere else. His eyes widened, then he grit his teeth and huffed out a breath as he realized his mistake.

“No, not like that, my dear. Don’t you fret, it’s still full of books. Just like it was- well. With some new additions. I’ll have to do a proper inventory when I have more time.”

Aziraphale swallowed past the lump in his throat. “M’not fretting,” was all he allowed himself - as Crowley - to say.

Crowley cast him a knowing look. “Of course not.”

“I said I’m not. What do I care about a bunch of stupid books anyway? Not like I read since I’m a demon and demons can’t possibly be bothered to read.” Aziraphale tucked his fingers into his pockets to keep from fiddling with them. “So what did you mean then? Nothing at the bookshop?”

“No summons.”

They both held each other’s gaze for a solid minute at that. “No summons?”

“Not a trace of divine correspondence. I checked all over. Twice.” Crowley’s eyes betrayed his concern. “I’m not sure what that means.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Seems a bit odd. I’d think your people would be more timely ‘bout things like that. They’re always on you for every little ‘frivolous’ miracle…”

“Yes, rather.”

“And they love their paperwork. Always have a paper trail. Have to account for everything.” Aziraphale’s mind whirled as he tried to think of any reason for this kind of a delay. Surely he was going to be reprimanded for this, wasn’t he? Gabriel would not let something like this slide, let alone with Sandalphon, Uriel, and Michael backing him… “Unless…”

“What are you thinking?” Crowley coaxed.

“Well, I-” Aziraphale twisted the words around in his mouth before he gave voice to them. “Now I know your lot’s the ‘by the book’ sort, but… what if there was something they wanted to keep… off record? Would they?”

“Keep something off record?” Crowley echoed carefully, and Aziraphale nodded. “With no paper trail. I suppose… it’s a possibility. But that seems more like something your side would do.”

“They were angels once,” Aziraphale grumbled. “Not so different. In the end. Except, obviously, we’re far more evil.”

“Obviously,” Crowley murmured.

“Or, you know… they could just be taking their time. Getting all the paperwork together. Maybe that’s all.”

Maybe, but even Aziraphale had his suspicions. Perhaps they’d go by the bookshop after this, see if anything had arrived while they were out. It was what they’d been banking on. They couldn’t predict Hell’s next move, not entirely, but they could anticipate Heaven’s. First would come the summons, then the performance review, then the ‘correction plan.’ This wasn’t Aziraphale’s first go at this, but never before had he done something so entirely against explicit instructions. Gently skirted them, yes, but never outright disregarded his orders to their faces.

Aligning himself with a demon and stopping the Apocalypse… if he didn’t fall for those acts of treason, then the only other punishment he could see fit for himself was…

_ ...for soon enough ye will be playing with fire… _

Death by hellfire had never been done before in heaven, as far as Aziraphale was aware, that is, but it wasn’t an impossibility. Smiting was in an angel’s job description, after all, and it made sense that they would need to get… creative when it came to smiting a fellow angel. It was also something that they wouldn’t want the rest of Heaven knowing. Wouldn’t want anyone getting any ideas.

Aziraphale swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he searched his own eyes for a trace of where Crowley’s head was at. “You alright?”

“Me? Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Crowley spared a quick glance somewhere beyond Aziraphale’s shoulder, just to check, see if anything was rising out of the earth… “I’m more than prepared to accept whatever disciplinary actions Gabriel has in store for fraternising with a demon.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, a soft huff escaping him as he slinked on ahead. “Wasn’t fraternising. Was more than that, angel, and you know it.”

Crowley actually tripped over his own feet and almost went sprawling onto the pavement had Aziraphale not been close enough to steady him. He wasn’t sure who it was more embarrassing for, after all, seeing his own body look so flustered made him feel quite flustered in response. Crowley had lost enough control that a full on flush heated his cheeks.

“Don’t say things like that,” Crowley grumbled.

“Why not? Thought you were a fan of honesty and the truth and all those virtues.”

Crowley glared at him, but said nothing else as they walked on. Nothing infernal or divine made itself known to either of them, both keeping a watchful eye on each and every parkgoer. And the animals, in Crowley’s case. Each and every squirrel was a suspect, not to mention the pigeons. If he saw a toad, he wouldn’t hesitate to squish it, grind it up under the heel of his boot just in case it happened to be Hastur.

Though it wouldn’t seem very angelic, would it? Even with the excuse that he was trying to rid the world of potential demons. Fine, he’d just quietly disintegrate them then. That’d do the trick. Just keep discorporating them so they had to waste time filling out paperwork rather than come near Aziraphale…

Except that was the point, like they’d said earlier. They needed to convince Heaven and Hell to leave them alone - and they needed a convincing way to avoid being destroyed - and that required them to actually go there. Crowley sighed and rolled his shoulders, Aziraphale’s corporation carried a stiffness in it he was not at all used to. He masked it with a bit of a wiggle, the kind that Aziraphale couldn’t help when he was particularly pleased about something.

He was pulled from his surveillance by a light touch to his elbow. “What?” He braced himself, immediately on high alert as his gaze narrowed. Where was Hastur? Beelzebub? If they were going to take Aziraphale, it was going to be on his terms-

“You’re looking a bit worse for wear, angel,” Aziraphale hummed, releasing his gentle hold. “Let me get you something. My treat. Anything you’d like.”

“I- what-” Crowley blinked at him, but couldn’t think of anything to say in the moment.

“It’s rather warm out. Probably not going to last… what do you say to some ice cream? Won’t get to enjoy it much longer, I expect.”

“Oh, I…” Crowley winced, then took the time to breathe to try and resettle himself in Aziraphale’s corporation. “That sounds lovely, my dear. Lead the way.”

He allowed Aziraphale to walk ahead, keeping a close watch on his back. If they were to bring their wings out on this plane, his would very likely be curved around the angel, shielding him. They would also give him away immediately, unless his control over Aziraphale’s corporation extended to his wings as well. He doubted that though.

The second Hell tried anything, he’d be ready, nonetheless. They could take him, of course, would have to take him, but they wouldn’t harm a hair on his head. Not a feather out of place. He sniffed the air. There wasn’t a hint of sulphur, nothing charred or burning or deep and earthy. Everyone around them blended in perfectly, too, which wasn’t like the demons he knew at all. No one could keep their rot and mold from spilling out in the form of pustulant sores and festering wounds, demonic essence splitting the human skin from the inside out.

They weren’t as good at their disguises as he was. They couldn’t possibly keep themselves contained. Crowley would spot them straight away.

Aziraphale brought them to a little ice cream cart, not far from their usual bench. “A strawberry lolly and... a vanilla with a flake,” he ordered lazily, only just biting back a ‘please.’

Crowley circled him as they stood still, his fingers twitching as he clenched them tightly behind his back. They itched to brush against Aziraphale’s, to offer protection or reassurance that they were still okay.

“How’s the car?” He asked, figuring anyone spying on them might wonder if they didn’t talk more. Or maybe they wouldn’t. They were dense, the whole lot of them.

“Not a scratch on it,” Aziraphale assured him. “How’s the bookshop?”

“Not a smudge,” Crowley replied, his gaze flicking to the angel as he paid for their ice creams, though he didn’t cease his pacing. “Not a book burnt.” He realized in that moment that he hadn’t asked Aziraphale if anything had come through at the flat. Surely he would’ve told him- “Have you heard from your people yet?” he asked, tamping down on the urgency that churned inside him.

“No. You?” Aziraphale asked, distracted as he smiled politely at the vendor and took the offered vanilla cone. He knew well-enough to hand it to Crowley, the treat better suited to him for appearances.

Crowley blinked at it for a moment, thrown off by the offering, but he recovered quickly enough. “Nothing.”

They made idle small talk, Crowley waiting for Aziraphale to receive his strawberry lolly when suddenly they were staring Death in the face. In all their six thousand years on Earth, they’d of course run into the horseman - all the horsepeople, to be fair, even Pestilence - more than several times. To see Death twice in as many days, however, was something that struck Crowley as a little more than concerning. He bristled, dropping his cone and laid a hand against Aziraphale’s arm.

What if they’d been wrong? What if their sides weren’t coming for them? Death was a human experience, an end to a life, but that didn’t mean that Death didn’t have methods for dealing with demons and angels. What if this was how they met their end? Scattered into dust to be spread throughout the cosmos?

If Death tried anything, they’d run. Ineffable or not, they would not lose today, he would not lose Aziraphale again-

They came upon him silently. He was yanked back, bound and gagged before he could shout a warning to his angel, eyes wide as he watched the back of his own head grow further away from him. Sandalphon and Uriel brushed past him, the two of them sparing him twin looks of disdain before they turned their attention on the demon who’d been left behind.

Crowley cried out from behind the gag, fighting the iron grips on his arms as he was dragged backwards towards a van. A proper kidnapping. He’d expected this kind of thing from his lot, not from angels. He watched helplessly as Aziraphale reached back for him, talking to him like he thought he was still there. When his fingers brushed air, Aziraphale whirled about, and if his eyes weren’t shielded by the sunglasses, Crowley knew they’d be darting about frantically, looking for him. Afraid for him.

“Renegade angels all tied up with strings…”

“These are a few of our favorite things.”

Bugger  _ The Sound of Music_.

Movement beyond the Archangels caught Crowley’s attention. A family of tourists strolled by, watching them with idle curiosity. Humans watched a foppish, frumpy bookseller get accosted by window delivery people in a park and manhandled into a van and did nothing more than smile at what they were seeing. Either the angels created some kind of glamor or…

He could smell it. The sulphur amidst the frankincense. Crowley stiffened and shouted for Aziraphale once more, his corporation’s heart racing. But Aziraphale didn’t see them. He only saw him, in his tunnel vision, and their plan was thrown carelessly over his shoulder along with his ice lolly. Something in Crowley twisted and writhed like a wretched snake as he watched Aziraphale bolt after him.

“Stop! Stop them!” he shrieked, running right past one of the tourists.

A tourist that had a crowbar in one hand.

“What’s wrong, love?” she cackled, weapon cracking down upon Aziraphale’s head.

He dropped to the ground and Crowley felt his power crackling between his bound hands as his gaze turned dark and terrible. They couldn’t discorporate him. He wouldn’t let them. He wouldn’t let them  _ touch _ him-

Aziraphale lifted his head groggily, surrounded by demons on all sides. Weakly, he sought out Crowley once again, who’d dug his heels into the earth to keep from moving one more inch towards that bloody van, ready to break free, to fight, to do whatever his angel needed him to do.

“S’not a problem,” he assured him, holding his gaze. “It’s tickety-boo.”

Crowley’s chest tightened. He could ignore him… pretend like he hadn’t heard him or that he forgot the plan or that he just didn’t care about it anymore… But if they could pull it off, if it worked, then maybe they wouldn’t have to live in fear, always looking over their shoulder, unable to live their lives on Earth as they wished. If they could pull this off, then they’d be free.

_ Choose your faces wisely. _

Aziraphale collapsed in the dirt and Crowley stopped fighting the angels. His knees and elbows banged against the metal van as he was tossed inside, the walls and doors precisely warded to keep him from trying any escape attempts once inside. He couldn’t even miracle away the bruises Aziraphale’s corporation would surely suffer. The last thing Crowley saw before they carted him away, was his own body being hefted up and tossed over Hastur’s shoulder like a sack as the ground opened up beneath their feet.

_ Please_, he thought to himself, not quite a prayer, no, he’d never call it that, but he thought and hoped just the same.  _ Please keep him safe. _

The doors slammed shut and his world went dark.

\----

It scared him that he arrived at the bench first. Not their bench at St. James’s, no. They picked a different one to meet at to swap back, one in Berkeley Square, close to the flat. They picked it before they knew about the bookshop and the Bentley, before they’d even swapped corporations. Not one of their usual rendezvous points. No, anything else was too risky. Likely to be watched.

But why was he the first one here? Surely, surely, his lot would’ve released him first…

Crowley clenched his fist - soft and pudgy and nails so cleanly filed - as he dropped heavily onto the left half of the bench. He glanced around, taking extra care this time to reach out with senses beyond Aziraphale’s corporation to feel for any demonic influences. Nothing.

Nothing angelic either. And nothing Aziraphale. 

Crowley sat stiffly, still keeping up the act just in case as he counted the minutes. They were taken at the same time, why would Hell want to wait and draw out his execution or his punishment? Holy water, it needed to be holy water. It had to be. His was hellfire, so of course, as Aziraphale predicted, his would have to be holy water.

If it wasn’t… Crowley didn’t dare move as he watched and waited and counted. Seventeen minutes and twenty-three seconds. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. If it wasn’t holy water, then he was going to have to break into Hell disguised as an angel and hope for God’s- for Satan’s- for somebody’s sake that he wasn’t too late.

He’d been tied up and left in that stark white, empty room for a while. The holy ropes itching against his wrists as they kept him bound to the chair. He’d been left alone for what felt like hours, the Archangels likely lording over their successful capture, bloody bastards.

Hell didn’t know how to draw things out, didn’t like biding their time unless it was for lurking. They liked immediate gratification when they could get it. But they were experts at torture… Crowley closed his eyes against the image of Aziraphale being tortured - clawed at, maimed, and scourged - until he pleaded for it to end, and then, only then, be granted the release of holy water.

Thirty-nine minutes and sixteen seconds.

The muscles that had been soothed by the hellfire were coiling themselves into knots again as Crowley sat there, unmoving. He reached out again and felt for a few dozen miles. No demons. No angels.

They should’ve discussed a time limit. How much time was too much time before they needed to investigate? If he wasn’t worried it would destroy the credibility of their ruse, Crowley would be rushing down there as soon as he’d sat there for an hour. Instead he sat for two.

As the second hour passed, Crowley had taken to trembling. This was ridiculous. This was too long. Something was wrong-

He slumped bonelessly against the back of the bench, a great swell of relief flooding every inch of him.  _ There_. He felt it, right on the edge of his periphery…

Crowley opened his eyes and saw himself. He was wearing the biggest, stupidest smile and wasn’t even trying to hide it. There was even a bounce to his step as he crossed the square to him, though he did ignore the path for once and walked on the grass. Crowley doubted he was even conscious of that though, the angel’s giddiness at seeing him overtaking anything else, but he could pretend he was trying to be at least a little bit demonic still.

And if Aziraphale saw himself wearing an equally stupid and big smile, well, it made sense. He was an angel, after all. It wouldn’t do to be anything but delighted that things had worked out for the better. Yes, things had worked out to be quite alright indeed.


End file.
